


8. Injury

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Cuddly Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Scenting, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: injuryJaskier knows how to deal with this, at least.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 16
Kudos: 267





	8. Injury

None of this is new to Jaskier. During his acquaintance with Geralt, he has also become rather too well acquainted with all sorts of bodily fluids, up to and including blood and pus. Granted, Witcher healing is really _quite_ remarkable, but every once in a while, even that isn't enough to stave off an infection, and those times are extra unpleasant when the patient has an astoundingly bad self preservation drive.

Geralt is stubborn at the best of times. Injured Geralt is a bit of a menace.

During his last hunt (wraith, because nothing can ever be easy), the Witcher had tripped into a ravine after the wraith had slashed him across the chest, and taken a particularly sharp and tough branch all the way through the bicep. Geralt had somehow managed to dispatch the wraith with _half a tree_ sticking out of his arm, and then dragged himself back into their camp looking like death himself.

Unfortunately, he had passed out pretty much immediately after Jaskier had seen him, and it fell, as so often, to the bard to haul him into the camp proper (something that is exactly as easy as one would imagine, which is to say: not easy at all). Being on the Path with a Witcher all these years has taught Jaskier enough healing skills to remove the branch with relative ease, to clean and sew up the wound and apply salves to all the scratches and slashes decorating Geralt, all while the man is still unconscious.

Now, Geralt is awake again, and his mood is absolutely atrocious. Jaskier understands that the Witcher is in pain, that the already healing wounds are itchy, but really. It's not like it's Jaskier's fault.

"Here," he says and hands Geralt the little bottle of Swallow. "Maybe this will brighten your mood a little."

Geralt takes the potion wordlessly, grunting when the effects start to take hold. Jaskier watches the line of tension in Geralt's shoulders lessen, and he sits next to him, their backs against a fallen tree, and holds out a roll of sweet bread. Geralt takes it with another grunt, this time one of thanks. Jaskier smiles and tips his head back, watching a flock of birds wheeling above.

"I wonder, you know," he says after a while, "how it must feel. To be a wraith, I mean. To be so... so _angry_ , and not know why or at whom." Geralt hums around his mouthful of bread, and Jaskier closes his eyes. "I can't imagine a worse fate, to be honest."

The Witcher leans against him, just a little, and Jaskier lifts his arm and puts it around his shoulder. He must be feeling worse than Jaskier thought if he's actively seeking out physical contact like this. He squeezes gently, careful to avoid the injured arm, and Geralt grunts again. Jaskier has gotten quite good at reading his grunts. This one means 'I need you but can't say so because I'm a big, scary Witcher and don't have feelings, will you believe me if I say it enough times?'.

"In any case," he continues, "glad that's taken care of. Not that I doubted your skills for a second." He chuckles and opens his eyes again, looks over at Geralt. He's still chewing, eyes trained on the fire, and Jaskier leans over and leans his head against Geralt's. "Despite your continued claims to the contrary, I would be _quite_ devastated if you were killed, dear Witcher,'" he murmurs, and Geralt "Hm"s at him. "I know you don't do the whole public displays of affection thing, you have a reputation to uphold, all that. But you know I'm telling the truth."

Geralt turns his head, and Jaskier sits up straight again, meets his gaze. Then Geralt leans into his space, and Jaskier tilts back his head, lets the Witcher scent him, lets him make sure there's not a hint of a lie.

It should probably hurt his feelings that, even after all these years, Geralt still needs these reassurances. That he doesn't take Jaskier at his word when he says that he cares about the Witcher, but he recognises that Geralt's emotional intelligence is somewhat stunted, through no fault of his own. And so it's easy to allow this to happen, to let Geralt rely more on what Jaskier's body is saying than his words.

He can lie with words, but his body will always betray him, one way or the other.

Geralt seems satisfied with what he finds, for he grunts again and pulls back. Jaskier squeezes his shoulder again and looks up at the sky. "Personally, I could do with a nap, and if I'm honest, you don't look particularly sharp yourself." He'd be surprised if Geralt did. That fight must have taken more out of him than Jaskier thought, even without the injuries. "Bedtime, I think."

He gets to his feet and prepares their bedrolls, even though it's only early afternoon. In truth, he wants to give Geralt's wounds some time to heal before they go and collect his payment, and he knows Geralt would never agree to sleeping if Jaskier didn't lie down as well.

When he's done, he beckons Geralt over, who, for once, comes along without protest. His mouth twitches the tiniest bit as he pushes himself up, the only sign he gives of being in pain, and Jaskier revises the plan for their sleeping arrangements. He tugs the bedrolls closer together, and when Geralt lies down with a groan that is somewhere between pleased and pained, he knows that was the right choice.

Stupid Witchers and their 'I have to do this alone' attitude.

He lies down next to Geralt, and it takes hardly a moment for the Witcher to wind his arm around him and pull Jaskier against his chest, burying his nose in his neck. "Thanks," he says, quietly, and Jaskier smiles, patting the hand pressed against his breastbone.

"Sleep, dear. It's been a long day."

Geralt hums and shuffles even closer, and Jaskier listens to his quiet breaths, feels them against the back of his neck, ruffling the little hairs there, until he knows the Witcher has fallen asleep.

Jaskier lies there, pressed against his friend's solid chest, and despite the worry and the blood and the hard ground beneath them, he knows he would never want to exchange this life for any other.


End file.
